Legs
by dervishandbanges
Summary: An evening encounter by the Fat Lady's portrait turns into a reflection on a certain Gryffindor's limbs. I don't know, this has no genre.


_A/N: Lol, it's weird that my username is longer than the title… it's aesthetically wrong. Anyway. The thingy is a gift for Justine._

_I know it's been ages since I last posted anything so I humbly remind you – beware of my English. I don't normally do JP/LE, so it seems a little awkward for me, a little first time. This was originally a translation practice but it grew into – well, into something. I'm not sure what though._

_Set during their seventh year, November or early winter._

**Legs, part one**

dervishandbanges

It itched and prickled, just a tiny little bit though, as she rubbed the towel down her arms, shoulders, back, stomach, thighs and calves down to the ankles. The dried, irritated skin grew red.

She pulled the panties up her legs, the elastic was loosened, but it curled up and it cut in the protruding hips. Lily straightened it and put on her nightgown. Then she leant forward and dried her hair with the same towel, from the roots down to the ends, but they were still dripping a little and they wet her back, when she threw her head back again. She glanced at the mirror. She frowned, seeing her pale face. In the bathroom light it looked ghastly. Colourless complexion, parched lips, purple web of blood-vessels on the cheeks, weird chin, and the hair… actually, Lily never really had any problems with the way she looked, maybe only with the fact that the cups of her bras were always half empty. For some time now, though, accepting the ginger thatch on her hair was becoming harder and harder.

Perhaps her children, at least, won't inherit that mass of recessive genes.

Lily sighed, hanging her dirty clothes over her forearm and taking the toothbrush in her hand. She ran her fingers through her hair, because they set strangely behind her ears, and she stepped out to the corridor, leaving the door slightly ajar. The contrast between the cool draught of the hall and the warm, steamy interior of the Prefects' bathroom surprised her. She got used to it as she walked up to the Gryffindor tower. The hair stopped dripping. Droplets of water marked her way.

It was already quite late and the corridor was empty. Lily stopped before the Fat Lady's portrait.

"_Doctor magis eris, si quod nescis quaeris,_" she recited the password, and it echoed against the walls. Loud.

The portrait opened and Lily stepped forward; suddenly she felt that she came up against something hard, warm and large, as the Fat Lady murmured her sleepy "Exactly, my dear".

"Whoops," said the large something in a sexily low voice. Lily looked up to see none other than James Potter himself, a confident smirk adorning his face. The peak of James Potter found itself about ten centimetres over his forehead, judging by how much air must have been pumped up into his hairdo.

Lily looked down immediately. No matter how big-headed and unworthy of her attention James Potter was, he shouldn't be seeing her braless, make-up-free and with wet hair that stuck out _really _strangely behind the ears.

She waited until he moved away and she stepped forward one more time. Potter's arms, stretched forwards, stopped her.

"It's generally proper to let the lady go first," Lily said, blinking.

"It's generally proper that the one who goes in lets the one who goes out first," said Potter calmly.

"Maybe it is, but I'm cold and I want to go to bed, while you – well, wherever it is you're going at half past ten."

"If you want to, you can go there with me, 'cause I'm going to the showers. And I won't say no to some nice company."

"Oh, just piss off, won't you."

He rolled his eyes, so that only the whites were visible. Lily grimaced with disgust.

"Huh, bad language, Evans."

She moved left, so did he, he was in her way again.

"And if you're that willing to go to bed, you can wait for me in mine."

"Get lost, Potter."

"All right, I will."

He moved a little and they went pass each other. Her shoulder brushed his arm slightly and he rubbed off a bit of water that her hair left on his t-shirt.

She looked at him over her shoulder. Well, she practically turned around. He was walking backwards, laughing out loud. He caught her eye and wolf-whistled.

"Nice legs, Evans!" he smiled. "What time do they open?"

Then he turned his back to her and walked away.

She didn't know exactly why she stood and watched him walk. His shadow was long and shivery in the dim corridor light. She observed each of his steps, she examined how his back moved under his grey t-shirt, but mostly, she stared at his lean legs, from the heels, up the muscular calves and shapely thighs to the buttocks.

She blinked when he disappeared from sight.


End file.
